148. Watch YouTube for the best dummies.

HOME.

Real Fur.
This from friend Heather:-
Did you hear about the man who bought his wife a coat made entirely from hamster fur? They went on holiday to Blackpool and he couldn’t get her off the big wheel for two days.
Conversation with my Leader.
We were sitting in bed, supping the morning cuppa, cat Shadow a purr ball between us, when a newsreader mentioned that the new Home Secretary could put paid to Gary McKinnon’s threatened extradition to America. I had doubts and said so.
“When it comes down to it this bunch will be just as gutless as the last,” I opined. “Only hope when he does get dragged over there they’ll get ol’ Jack McCoy’s Law and Order crowd to prosecute him. They never win.”
“Sam Waterston did this week,” murmured my Leader, cleverly disclosing that she knows the name of the actor who plays Jack McCoy. “ He beat Kathleen Turner.”
“You’re right; he did. Afterwards she offered him a job, didn’t she? Then she took off in a black limousine.”
“I think she was some sort of television lawyer,” my Leader opined.
“Yeah. Like Judge Judy. What sort of car d’ you think she has?”
My Leader was in no doubt.
“Bullet proof .”
Death of Ray Alan.
With the death of Ray Alan went another of our gradually disappearing links with music hall variety. He was a superb ventriloquist and a class act. Many years ago when he opened a fete over here, a flustered local dignitary introduced him as: “Ray Charles and Lord Alan!”
“Well, you were close,“ said Ray, amused. “But I assure you I won’t be singing I Can’t Stop Loving You or Georgia On My Mind and I‘m pretty sure he will tell you he’s the one with the title.”
He, of course, was Lord Charles and his response was as expected.
“Silly arse!” he said.
If you want to be reminded of - or even see for the first time - Ray Alan at his hilarious best, go to You tube: Ray Alan with Lord Charles - Worlds Greatest Ventriloquist.- 1986 to savour some real entertainment. And while you are about it, take in my other favourite vent act of all time, the lugubrious Arthur Worsley with his bullying sidekick. Charlie Brown: look for Arthur Worsley - Which one’s the Dummy. Marvellous.
Ray Alan was nine days older than me.
Pays not to dwell on it.
Welcome company.
The cat Shadow has taken up semi-permanent residence on the spare chair in my computer room. I am generally the only other occupant of the room and I am not bothered by his occasional gentle snore. I think he may be wrestling with writer’s block or versifier’s volte-face or something.
He did come downstairs for the England - Mexico soccer friendly: slept through most of it, insisted he enjoyed it, proclaimed it could as easily have gone Mexico’s way and warned there would be more dangerous opponents in South Africa. He can be a cheerful little bugger.
He’s back in the chair now: won’t move until he‘s ready to eat again..
How come they know when you’re going to put their food out?
I’ve asked.
He won’t say.

TELEVISION.

BBC Young Musician of the Year. (BBC2)
16 year old pianist Lara Ömeroglu, playing Saint-Saëns’s Piano Concerto No.2 in G minor, Op. 22, triumphed over flautist Emma Halnan (17) and violinist Callum Smart (14) to win the coveted BBC Young Musician 2010.
The three finalists must surely have meteoric musical careers ahead of them. To the layman their performances were impeccable; a total delight.
I know it is pointless saying so, but we oldies really should stop moaning about the young. The majority of teenagers are worthwhile, kindly and industrious. This biennial competition is proof that an outstanding few of them are gifted beyond belief.
Dr. Who. (BBC1)
I did hope the departure of Russell T. Davies would not detrimentally affect the new format and, despite some cracks in the seams, it hasn’t. There are pronounced differences; but no more than might be expected from new writers and a fresh production team. We remain optimistic by watching the follow up programme:-
Dr. Who Confidential. (BBC3)
Wherein the director, actors, writer and all concerned with the last episode discuss it, show how stunts and effects were accomplished, and clear away many of the cobwebs surrounding the production.
A fascinating character and plot master class for punters.
Good fun, too.
The National Movie Awards. (ITV1)
It was good to see the Harry Potter youngsters (Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Bonnie Wright - Rupert Grint rang in sick) still winning awards with six films gone and two to go. Good, too, to see Robert Pattinson (Cedric Diggory in H.P. & the Goblet of Fire) win The Performance of the Year award for The Twilight Saga: New Moon.
And good that Tom Cruise received a screen icon award. He’s a darned good actor and he does bother to turn up at these functions.

A CAT’S LIFE.

Stop pussyfooting around.
Must bring this post to an end now. The cat Shadow has departed the computer room and is pussyfooting around downstairs in a furry of righteous indignation. “Ain’t anyone going to feed me? I dunno what it’s coming to around here! Y’ just can’t get the staff anymore!”
I’ll go down, tell him not to be so bloody impatient, feed him and give him a drop of cat milk,
Afterwards he’ll come back up here and settle beside me again.
He doesn’t hold grudges.

147. None of them would vote for me...

HOME.

A family view.
Grandson Ellis and I were sprawled in my armchair watching Cbeebies Grandpa In My Pocket.

Of a sudden he asked: “Why has Jason Mason got curly hair?”
“I expect that’s how it grows,” I ventured. ”When I was your age I had fair curly hair.” He peered at me like a predatory nit nurse. “Hmm… now you’re grey, aren‘t you…” he said…“and spiky”
Keeps your feet on the ground, don’t it?
The expected unexpected.
I care not what the ITV people say to the contrary, their adverts are louder than their programmes; I am constantly reducing the sound to avoid being deafened as well as brainwashed. There are frequent frantic searches for the remote.
Recently I was halfway through a British Gas advert boasting how they are committed to ringing ahead so that you don’t wait in all day when, unexpectedly, the doorbell rang.
It was a man to read the gas meter.
Music.
Following up on the treats to be found on YouTube I came across one that combined my fondness for the Harry Potter films with my favourite track from Michael Bolton’s Vintage CD. The scenes are from Potter films and the song is called If I Could. If you would like to give it a try, go to you tube - harry potter/if i could.
Incidentally, for those who hate Draco Malfoy, you may also find a young man called Tom Felton playing the guitar and singing If You Could Be Anywhere. He looks a bit like Draco but is clearly a much nicer chap. I like him.
I bet he’s a good actor, too.

TELEVISION.

Goodbye Mr. Chips.
This television film, originally released over Christmas 2002, was one my Leader and I missed at the time. It was well worth the repeat showing.
Martin Clunes is splendid as Chips and Victoria Hamilton excellent as the freethinking wife who, in life and after her early death, is responsible for his transformation from retiring Latin teacher to respected Headmaster.
Our enjoyment owed as much to the moving story as to the fine acting.
Neither of us was privately educated (family finances scarcely ran to public schools) but we did see Roedean from the car - several times - and were favourably impressed without being at all envious.
Perhaps we should have had more ambition.
Nah.
Who wants to rule the country or study Latin?
We didn’t and still don‘t.
ora pro nobis.
Lewis. (ITV1)
Reliable Kevin Whately is back with laconic Laurence Fox to investigate donnish dark deeds and masterly murders. [I really must stop listening to Tim Wonnacott!]
The casting is extremely good and the plots give a reassuring nod towards an absent Colin Dexter. I think it meets the Morse code. All it needs now is a background tune playing ditdahditdit dit ditdahdah ditdit ditditdit and ol’ Robbie Lewis will be home and dry.
Luther. (BBC1)
New cop on the block is DCI John Luther, played by Idris Elba. He is a coppers’ copper; a loose cannon; a top office nightmare; a hopeless husband, an adoring father; a door-demolishing, table-overturning, friend-testing basket case.
Actually, he’s every cliché in the book.
And so is everything else about this dark psychological thriller - including that description of it.
I’ll not stop watching, but I do hope it will become less predictable.
Outnumbered. (BBC1)
Series three and to my detriment I have only just become a regular viewer of this all-too-close-to-home family romp.
As the parents, Hugh Dennis and Claire Skinner cope splendidly with every actor’s biggest nightmare - apart from somebody whistling in the dressing room or naming Macbeth - working with children and animals.
These parents simply play along. They have to. They are out-talked, outwitted and upstaged at every turn (by children Karen and Ben in particular) but they maintain moderate control and their sanity by the constant employment of gentle reproof and dry asides..
W.C. Fields once said: “Anyone who hates children and animals can't be all bad.” He died in 1946, 55 years before Karen (Ramona Marquez) was born.
He would have loved her. And she would have made mincemeat of him.
The Mentalist. (Five)
My Leader and I recently caught up on a backlog of Mentalist recordings and found we were hooked again. It is daffy and unbelievable and inclined towards the “let’s get rid of a few characters” shock technique, but Patrick Jane (Simon Baker) and Teresa Lisbon (Robin Tunney) have a clear rapport and everything else is incidental.
In a country full of people who seem to act first and think later, I have stopped counting the number of times the insufferably clever and good-looking Jane would have finished up flat on his back and toothless.
You just have to go with the flow,
It’s quirkily watchable.
Doctors. (BBC1)
Just as nobody without the death wish would choose to live in Cabot Cove or Midsomer, so nobody (unless suffering from latrophobia) would choose to be a patient of any other practice than this.
My Leader, who once worked for a GP, regards it as a sitcom; a daily dose of pseudo A.J. Cronin; a farce.
Did you ever find practice nurses, receptionists. managers, accountants, a couple of doctors and the local police sergeant rushing to your home to reassure you that not only would your panic attack not kill you, but neither would your child’s teddy bear - no matter how threatening it looked?
If your answer is “yes” you had better start looking for Alice; you are clearly in Wonderland.
It’s the sort of thing that only happens on Doctors. Ne’er mind, it gives employment to a bunch of actors and technicians and encourages me to have an afternoon doze without feeling guilty.

POLITICAL HANGOVER.

Election post mortem.
That’s it, then. All over for as long as the courting couple stay together.
Who can say how long that will be?
Gordon the jaw-dropping-Scot gained more sympathy in his last appearance as PM, heading with family away from No.10, than he managed to muster from public or colleagues at any other time throughout his tenure.
Blair-clone-Cameron now has to show himself to be something other than a Morecambe and Wise double act with his Lib-Dem-double, Clegg.
As John Laurie oft lamented: “We‘re doomed. We‘re all doomed.”.
So did I vote?
Gosh no.
None of them would vote for me.
Anyway, a wet plank could win an election over here if it was wearing a blue rosette.
One did this time.
Again.

146. Votes for all - well, not politicians....

HOME.

Battle of the Dental Plate.
A routine visit to old friend and long time dental surgeon Keith Fradgley of Ventnor turned out to be more than the customary: “All OK here. I’ll give them a clean and polish…people like you could drive me out of business…” and concluded in a no-holds-barred contest to extract a tooth and a half (an eight and a five I believe) from my bottom jaw.
Tooth and a half? Well, yes, one of the blighters had cracked right through and in the process of taking a mould to extend a small lower dental plate…
Anyway, the final confrontation lasted better part of an hour; the wisdom tooth was a bit of a beast and the remaining half tooth fought savagely.
Keith won on points, but it was a split decision.
I was awarded the Modified Dental Plate for being best opponent of the day.
Music.
Son Neil has sent me a copy of the BBC television programme Harry Nilsson - A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night, a 1973 recording session which made me a lifelong fan. It and many others can be found on You Tube.
All the tunes are golden oldies. Of the five parts, the last two contain my favourite: This is All I Ask, by Gordon Jenkins and Harry’s version of Over The Rainbow which I like very much.
Listen in. There’s not a bad tune among ’em.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9Zsjphc3RI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyfnqEADpSY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lwdePZg9BU&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNXXSYjWnO4&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWF8wkXvPSM&feature=related

AND AWAY..

Rufus Wainwright at Oxford.
Daughter Jac went to the New Theatre (Formerly Oxford Apollo Theatre) on 26th April to see this young chap in concert again.
Her pal Zoe Farndon travelled from Warwick to go with her.
I gather the first half was a somewhat downbeat tribute to his late mother, but it picked up after the interval and he finished in customary buoyant fashion. They enjoyed it.
Of course they did.
They are loyal, if not uncritical, fans.

TELEVISION.

Foyle’s War.
At the end of this short series Foyle departed for America. Before he left he cleared up a couple of nasty murder cases for D.I. Milner; put paid to a council scheme to build on a Roman burial ground; saved Sam’s future husband from prosecution for assault and, with his last word, cut Milner’s bumptious assistant down to size.
Pity there was no sign of Andrew Foyle.
Could have done with a few decent outfits for Sam, too; even if it was Cripps‘ austerity Britain.
The Prime Ministerial Debate.
So all three of the Brickbats at Five Paces sessions are out of the way. According to the pundits, Nick won the first, Gordon probably shaded the second and David took the third.
Most critics agreed that putting the leaders of the largest parties into American style debate was a good thing.
I think it is too much America and would be better left there.
Gordon probably scuppered his chances before the last session by forgetting he was wearing an open microphone when he ‘privately’ pronounced elderly Gillian Duffy to be a bigot.
Later I thought I saw a damp patch under the television.
It wasn’t the cat, so it must have been Tony Blair wetting himself with laughter.
Joanna Lumley’s Nile.
The ol’ girl was on form here. There was plenty of head prefect enthusiasm and slightly breathless wonder There was the expected touch of raunchy naughtiness (think Purdey in The New Avengers and Patsy in Absolutely Fabulous) and there was the customary lack of vanity.
Joanna’s Nile may have been a far cry from her Girl Friday Island or her quest to view the Aurora Borealis but she is never disappointing.
She holds an MBE.
Why not make her a Dame?
An Ambassador?
Hell, now we’ve seen the other three, why not make her Prime Minister?

READING.

M.C.Beaton.
Have just read Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M.C.Beaton. The writer was a Fleet Street journalist and had written 18 Agatha Raisin novels at the time this one was published.. It shows.
Easy reading.

AND POLITICS AGAIN.

The Election.
A former son-in-law used to tell me that if I didn’t vote I deserved whoever I got and had no right afterwards to complain about them.
My reply was that whether I voted or not the winners always turned out to be self-serving pains in the bum and I would most certainly complain about them ad infinitum.
Our polling station is the church just around the corner, My Leader may go to vote on Thursday. The cat Shadow and I will probably not.
We might have done if Joanna Lumley had been standing.